


Birthday Present

by okamidemon



Category: One Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-03 10:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10242398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okamidemon/pseuds/okamidemon
Summary: A very very short thing I wrote a really LONG TIME AGO. It's just about a present Sabo decides to gift a certain person.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: It's quite GORY.

The noise within the cave sounded as if it were raining. The dripping ‘water’ fell into the large puddles that lay below, sending tiny waves to extend the size. The sounds echoed through the ‘lifeless’ cave, getting quieter as they reached the entrance. Occasionally, one would be able to hear the sound of tiny deathly breaths from the ceiling, but those would stop after a few.  
With no lights at all in the dark abyss, the faint dripping sounds echoed, creating an endless melody. Something alive, created ripples in the waters that shook in fear. The subtle breathing of death itself could be heard if one listened close enough. Once. Twice. Maybe a third time before being consumed by the abyss.  
He took a step onto the uneven surface and nudged whatever it was that blocked his foot from the ground. Without a care, he pressed down hard, crushing the object to make it so that his foot touched the cold stone ground. The object made cracking and gushing sounds before splitting right in half. He lifted his soaked foot to look at the mess he made and simply smiled. A soft laugh was heard before some unclear mumbling of words, “... deser- it.” He continued his stroll through his masterpiece, turning his head upwards. The whole cave was part of his piece.  
He glanced around at the ceiling and counted the ornaments he had hanged, “two… seven… eight…” He looked to the other half and started another count, “four… fifteen…” A smile crept across his face and he counted the last one, “sixteen.”  
He lowered his eyelids, “perfect.” He reached his gloved-hand up and touched the bit of excess of one ornament above him. The pink curl waved around in the slight wind. He frowned and growled, “you better not fall before they come…”  
He let out a breath and started for the cave’s exit. He looked back at his ‘lovely’ work and smiled again. He knelt down and dipped his gloved hand in the puddle of red and began writing something onto a rock. He got up and shook out his hand before humming a happy tune as he walked out, "from Sabo..."

 

A whole unit of marines disappeared for days. We were unable to contact them at all. However, we eventually were able to find them. They were barely noticeable. A villager was the one who found them. A scream was heard and a villager stumbled down the hill, eyes pouring with water and body shaking uncontrollably. They told us they had seen hell.  
Of course, we went to see what this ‘hell’ was. If it really was hell. Oh… it was. It was definitely the gate to hell itself. Our unit was shocked and terrified at the sight. Comrades… friends we knew… they were almost unnoticeable. We walked in to see what else there was. If there was a survivor. Of course, there wasn’t. It felt as if we were walking through a flood of water, except the water was blood.  
We would take a step in the crimson red blood and hear cracks beneath our heavy feet. We would lift our feet up to find that we had crushed someone’s skull. We were terrified, but we continued. “Who could have done such a thing,” my living unit would cry out. “This is hell,” they would continue.  
Oh… but that was only the start of it. As we got deeper into the bloodied cave, we saw more. Men skewered together like fish to put over a fire, hung from the walls, still dripping with their cold blood. Men sat, leaned against the wall, their heads no longer there. Brutal it was...  
More of them sat in front. Their neck were still twisted from how whoever it was removed the head. But these few still had their heads. The heads, however, were not on their necks, but instead, in their hands. Holding their own bloody head… The faces of the heads were all different. If you looked closely, you could see thin pins puncturing into the skin to hold it up, making the face, smile, frown, growl, and other expressions. Most of them were smiling in the most cheerful expression you could think of. At the feet of these few, skulls that had the skin torn messily from them lay there.  
Horrid it was… Men whose stomachs were dug out, leaving a large hole in it’s place. Their intestines were pulled out and pinned to the wall like a party decoration. Their hearts were all hung from the ceiling above our heads like the stars at night. They, of course, did not beat. they only dropped cold blood onto our heads. We would look up, to look at these hearts in terror. We didn’t only see the hearts… We saw the ‘masterpiece.’  
Men in rows were hanged from the ceiling like ornaments. Intestines wrapped around their neck and let them bounce and sway. My living unit gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. Some counted and some just tried to get the hanged men down. I, of course, was one who counted.  
The first set had eight. The next set had sixteen. It was a message and I am sure you can figure it out. We could not stand it anymore. We all hurried out of the place. I was the last one out, for I saw a little blood note on a rock. It was a name.  
This name makes the message even more plausible. On the clean surface of the rock, was a name in blood. A signature to the masterpiece we witnessed...

“To the red dog…"


End file.
